


Secret Spot

by battle_cat



Series: Together [23]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Furiosa is the most eaten out character in fandom history, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 17:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11742126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: This wouldn’t be the first time they’d fucked somewhere where they could potentially be seen, although it’s more the risk than the reality of the voyeurism that seems to excite her. Every time they’re somewhere other than her room there’s a sharp edge to her want, an extra crackle of adrenaline that she seems to relish.





	Secret Spot

**Author's Note:**

> Based on YoukaiYume's [smutty art](http://youkaiyume.tumblr.com/post/163839291298/warning-nsfw-this-was-a-smut-prompt-for).

He comes back, but it isn’t easy.

He doesn’t sleep well. In the garage, where he’s usually most grounded, the noise is suddenly overwhelming, every clang and shout putting him on edge. The constant parade of white-painted War Boys makes his shoulders hunch with embedded memories of captivity. The stone hallways, confusing on a good day, suddenly feel ready to crush him, shadows that have nothing to do with the torchlight flickering at the edges of his vision.

He’s spent dozens of nights in her bed. He’s been stitched up and fed here, seen the new world being birthed in the tunnels and atop the terraces. And when it was too much for him he had fled, let the open horizon scour him clean until he was brave enough to return, and always been welcomed back.

He’s had far less time than her to learn how to feel safe inside these rock walls. But he’d thought he was slowly getting used to the place, at least sufficiently to make himself stay long enough and come back often enough to deserve a tiny fraction of the unfathomable, precious, impossible trust she keeps offering him.

He muscles through, angry at his own backslide and roiling with guilt every time his nightmares wake her, hoping time and safety and sleeping beside her will cauterize the suddenly-reopened wound. But it isn’t easy.

 

“I want to show you something,” she says one afternoon. He’s barely concentrating on his brake lines anyway, so he lets her lead him out of the garage, up along narrow, twisting passageways he’s never been in before. She has a cranklight, and eventually she needs it, as the passageway gets rougher and narrower. He’s long since lost track of what direction they’re headed, but he thinks they must be deep in the rock. It’s cool here, devoid of the smells of humans and machines he associates with the cacophonous garage somewhere below them.

Finally they reach a dead end where the ceiling of the passageway has collapsed in on itself, a tumble of rock blocking their path. There’s a gap of maybe half a meter between the top of the pile and what’s left of the tunnel ceiling, and beyond it he can see a faint glow of warm light, just enough to make out the outlines of rocks without the cranklight, which she clips to her belt.

Furiosa climbs nimbly up the rock pile, finding steady footholds without hesitation. At the top she wriggles her way though the gap, wincing as her shoulder scrapes against the wall.

“Was thinner…when I did this last,” she mutters. It’s hard to imagine her any leaner than she is now, as someone with the smooth-skinned, unmuscled body of the Wife he knows she once was.

She slides backwards off the rock and disappears. “Your turn,” she says from the other side.

It’s a tight squeeze through the gap, but once he starts backing himself down the other side he finds enough footholds that the landing isn’t too painful.

She’s standing there, illuminated by the orange-gold light that seems to come from a bend in the tunnel just up ahead. There’s a glint of mischief in her eyes.

He follows her around the bend in the tunnel and the light is suddenly blinding.

When his eyes adjust he sees they’re in a shallow cave, maybe five meters deep, somewhere fairly high up on the Citadel-facing side of the War Tower. A ledge some distance up blocks them from sight by those above them, and standing a few paces back from the lip of the cave means they’re deep enough in shadow he’d wager no one watching from the other two towers would be able to see them easily either. Beyond the towers the wasteland stretches out below them, burnished copper in the afternoon sun. This high up the wind strips away some of the afternoon heat as it whistles past the mouth of the cave.

Furiosa is leaning against the wall, looking out at the wasteland, the sunlight etching a slice of gold along her profile.

“I used to come here sometimes,” she says softly. “Before I was an Imperator. When I needed…” _Space. Seclusion. The horizon…_ She gestures vaguely and doesn’t fill in the blank. “Don’t think anyone else ever found it.”

This isn’t just a secret spot among the Citadel’s warren of passageways, he realizes with a sudden spasm in his chest. This is _her_ secret spot, and she’s sharing it with him. The Citadel hadn’t felt like a safe place to her for far longer, and she is showing him how she survived it.

He goes to lean against the wall next to her. His fingers brush lightly against her flesh hand, and she’s still looking out at the desert but he sees a tiny flicker of a smile. He twines his fingers through hers.

It’s quiet up here, and just being able to stretch his gaze to the horizon loosens a little bit of the tightness under his diaphragm. For a moment they just stand in silence, enjoying the wind and sun and solitude. Furiosa’s eyes are closed, her face calm.

He knows precious little of her childhood, but he’s seen how the surviving women of her tribe prefer to live, pitching tents up on the terraces instead of being entombed in the rock below. He thinks of the rough-hewn window in her room, always open unless there is a sandstorm, no matter how cold the night. He thinks of the Vault, the air that’s supposed to be clean but feels stifling and still the handful of times he’s been inside, and the dank corridors he has no intention of ever going down but where he knows the War Boy quarters lie.

She’s not a Wastelander, not like him, but she’s not unfamiliar with the Citadel feeling like a prison.

Right now she looks at peace, though, all her coiled power relaxed. She is hard lines and sinew, shaved down to something ruthless and perfectly honed, the sun burnishing her cheekbone and clavicle with gold. Fuck but she’s beautiful, and good to him, so much better than he deserves, and he’s suddenly aching to thank her the only way he can manage.

“‘S nice up here,” he says. “Quiet. Mm. Private.”

The little smile is back. “That’s occurred to me.”

When he leans into her space she turns to meet him, her breath feathering across his face as her lips part for him. Her skin is warm where the sun touched it, her fresh-cropped hair velvety soft, the grip of her flesh hand unequivocal when she tugs him firmly against her to press her into the stone. 

In the span of half a breath it goes from soft to heated, her nails suddenly digging into the skin of his lower back under his shirt. She lets her head tip back as he nibbles down her neck, her breath already ragged. When their mouths crash back together she bites his lip hard enough to sting.

His hands are moving of their own accord, kneading at her breasts, her back, her ass, and she’s responding with that unguarded eagerness that sends him out of his goddamn _mind,_ her body seeking him out the second he pulls away and wrapping around him when he presses into her. There is nothing more arousing than her arousal, and she owns her own desire so completely, fiercely, as if she’s fought a war for it. It is utterly intoxicating.

Her flesh hand is still under his shirt, nails tracing shivery patterns over the sensitive skin of his ribcage, and then she’s pushing impatiently at the cloth and he’s tugging it off for her. It’s not until she starts unstrapping her prosthetic that he remembers they are technically outside.

“Mmf,” he mumbles, ungluing his mouth from hers for a moment. “Think anyone can see us?” Now that he thinks about it he is not at all sure the sightlines from the center tower are blocked from this angle.

“Not back here,” she pants, working the buckles deftly by pure feel.

“Sure?” As soon as she slides the pauldron off her shoulder he tugs her shirt down and puts his mouth there.

“Mm-hmm _aaaahh—_ ” She squirms against him when his teeth scrape her shoulder. Then, “Pretty sure.” She divests herself of her leather bracer, and then with a devilish flash of a smile tugs off her top so she is bare from the waist up, her breasts and stomach pale and desperately inviting.

This wouldn’t be the first time they’d fucked somewhere where they could potentially be seen, although it’s more the risk than the reality of the voyeurism that seems to excite her. Every time they’re somewhere other than her room there’s a sharp edge to her want, an extra crackle of adrenaline that she seems to relish.

“I think”—he closes his mouth over a nipple until she arches up against him—“you like the idea that someone could be watching.” He slides a hand between her leather-clad legs and feels her buck hard against his fingers.

“What if I— _hnnh_ —do?” His mouth is on her other nipple just as his thumb presses against her clit. And then he backs away abruptly, taking two paces back to where the rock wall slopes away rapidly and he’s quite sure they would not be hidden from someone who happened to be looking in the right direction.

The _look_ she gives him—it sends a rush of blood straight to his cock and, he has to admit, a tiny trickle of fear down his spine. For a moment she stands unmoving against the rock wall. Then in a sudden scramble she tugs off her boots and strips out of her leathers and steps forward to meet him, completely naked.

For a moment his brain just skips helplessly at the sight of her bare and gilded by the afternoon light. Then he collects himself enough to slide a hand between her legs. She is absolutely drenched.

The wind whistles abruptly past the mouth of the cave, and with a lurch he appreciates exactly how close they are to the edge.

“Lie down?” he offers, extending a hand. She doesn’t need his help getting to the ground, but she takes the offered hand and lowers herself to her knees…and then she sprawls obscenely backward, balanced on her elbows, her legs spread wide and the slick pink folds of her pussy exposed.

He’s on the ground quick enough that his bad knee twinges sharply. He doesn’t fucking care. He spreads her open and gives her a slow, firm lick, and she moans deliciously before she manages to clamp her hand over her mouth. He buries his mouth against her slick heat, not bothering to tease but going straight for her clit, feels her buck up against him as he pushes her toward the redline. He throws an arm over her hips and slides two fingers inside her—she is so soft inside, and soaked, and already starting to twitch—

She comes on a scream buried in the crook of her elbow, a flood of wetness and a rhythmic pulse around his fingers. He teases her through the last shuddering aftershocks, and would start up all over again, would happily drink her up until his jaw went numb, but she pushes him away.

She is flushed and gasping, eyes wide and dark, and she breathes, “Get up here, Fool.” As soon as he scoots up next to her she is working at his belt buckle—she can do that without looking too now—and he’s suddenly far too aware of the aching pressure on his cock and every unbearable second it takes both of them to shove his pants out of the way.

It’s his turn to moan when she wraps her hand around him just as she sucks his bottom lip into her mouth. “You’re _covered,_ ” she murmurs, and swipes her hand once, firmly, over his lips and chin. When she reaches down to stroke him again her fingers are slick with her own juices, and it’s his turn to moan.

If he was determined to fang it, she is going entirely too slow, resting on the elbow of her half-arm, teasing the head of his cock and slicking a bead of precome around to mingle with her wetness. “You’re right,” she purrs. “I like it like this.”

Her hand finally— _finally_ —curls firm around him and strokes, steady and insistent, her breasts swaying just slightly as she works him over. She is gazing down at him, her eyes not leaving his face, and that is nearly as overwhelming as that twist— _there_ —that she does with each stroke.

“So many places,” she muses. “Where we could almost be seen…” He’s practically panting, and her bright smile and her blazing green eyes and her one inescapable hand are about to send him over the edge. He reaches for her, palming the back of her head, wanting to fold himself against her and hide, but she pulls back just out of reach.

“This pile of rocks is _mine_ now,” she hisses, suddenly fierce, and if a tone of voice alone could make his balls clench it’s _that one._ “And I’m gonna fuck you in every corner of it.”

He comes with a desperate gasp, spilling over her hand and the sweaty skin of his stomach.

 

Some minutes later, they’re lying in a sticky heap, her head on his shoulder. The sun has crossed an invisible meridian, throwing the cave into deep shadow. Soon it will be cool enough they’ll want clothes.

“Think you can climb over the cave-in yet?” Furiosa mumbles.

“Not sure…legs working yet.”

“Mm. Me either.”

“Y’know,” he says after another minute. “Never find this place again on my own. Corridors…‘s confusing as fuck. You’ll hafta…show me the way again.”

“Mm,” she agrees.

“Maybe a few more times.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](http://fuckyeahisawthat.tumblr.com/)


End file.
